Of Blood and Opium
by Spherically Adept
Summary: Oneshot for the Second Opium War. There was really no way China could accept this kind of treatment, especially not from someone whose eyebrows were enough to destroy his high. China


Hey everyone, this is Bree

I think this is the first of a series of random historical events Elle and I are planning to do but I'm not too sure just yet.

Some historical background: this fic takes place right before the Second Opium War fought between England and China and during the Taiping Rebellion. The peace treaties that ended the first Opium war pretty much demanded that China open all ports to European trade and all but legalized the sale of Opium. The Taiping Rebellion was a civil war type thing again the Qing Dynasty in which 20 million people died.

Warnings: Drug usage and blood? Bastardization of England. Human names

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia, England, or my own country (China)

I do NOT hate England, but he was a bastard during this time... Personal bias OTL, well enjoy!

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China's hand shook as he slowly brought the long carved pipe to his mouth and took a shuddering drag. Holding the smoke in, the ancient nation relished the scalding heat for as long as his lungs would allow before exhaling. Almost immediately, the anticipated rush of release washed over him, relaxing his muscles and numbing his mind. China sighed in relief as he felt the narcotic scatter his thoughts and worries, transforming the stiffening room into a paradise of bamboo forests cooled by crystalline streams, roaring waterfalls and breezy sanctuaries where mythical birds sweetened the air with song. Murmuring an contented _aiyaa,_ the tired Chinese felt his eyes slip shut as he sank back into the fat silk cushions that littered his bed, too high to think, much less move.

A small wistful smile crept onto China's face as he roamed through the empty forest in his mind, reveling in the blessed seclusion of the past. He knew it wasn't real- it was far too good to be real- but he liked to pretend that it was in the minutes or hours he spent wandering through his deceptive paradise. And it was a deceptive dream indeed; surreptitiously coaxing his defenses down, lulling him into a beautifully crafted illusion of safety where pain was reduced to nothing but a lazy speculation. It was not until the black specters of nightmare and hallucination wrapped their clammy fingers around his neck did he realize his heaven had crumbled.

The first crushing wave of shame left China gasping for air as the angry throes of self hatred rampaged through his mind. It was disgusting; the way the vile smoke burned down his throat and clouded his mind; the way it corrupted his officials and enslaved his people. It was disgusting that he needed it to breath; that no matter how hard he tried, he simply did not have enough will power to walk away from it.

Guilty tears rolled down China's splotchy cheeks and he clamped his hands over his ears as the he tried to block out the anguished screams of his countrymen and women. Everything was his fault. His incompetency was the reason his empire was in ruins. His weakness, the reason he succumbed to the lure of opium. His pride and antiquated ways, the reason his massive armies flattened like grass before the technologically advanced Westerners. Even now, he hid behind his palace walls like a coward and watched as his people died by the millions and hoards of greedy European traders swarmed over the carcass of the Middle Kingdom like ants. China's hands clenched into fists as his body convulsed in a sudden spasm of anger, the pain and indignation of his people clouding his consciousness. Shaking his head in despair, the Asian nation sobbed incoherent apologies while bringing the pipe to his lips once again.

The subtle sensation of warm liquid wetting his hand pulled China back to reality. Pushing himself into a half sitting position, China stared with sick wonder as his fingers slowly unfurled to reveal four bloody crescents cutting across his palm. How was it possible for one to bleed so freely without feeling it? China smiled in understanding; perhaps that was the great irony of his addiction; the drug that caused his agony was the medicine that blocked all his pain. The caustic paradox seemed terribly amusing to his tired brain, and it became funnier by the second until the delirious nation collapsed back into the sheets shaking with uncontrollable laughter.

_It's so red and pretty, aru, _China noted with approval as he raised his hand over his face to admire the way the scarlet fluid welled over the broken skin and trickled down the contours of his arm. _Blood is life, isn't it aru? _He wondered as he absentmindedly angled his hand so that the warm liquid dripped onto his face in fat droplets. _Yes, it must be life_, his woe and drug ridden mind concluded, _and if it is life then it must taste like life yes? It's been a really long time since I've tasted life aru…_ Mustering the strength to lift himself up off the bed once more, China laboriously propped himself up before lifting his injured hand to his lips. Tentatively flicking out his tongue to taste the blood on his fingertips, he grinned delightedly as his hypothesis was proven correct. _Ahahaha, it does taste like life, _he thought as he happily sucked his fingers clean ; _and red, it tastes red too, aru. _Closing his eyes, China sighed contentedly as he savored the coppery tang of life in his mouth. It was so much better than opium.

The sound of angry footsteps in the hallway distracted China from his thoughts and he turned to face the doorway just in time to see England throw open the heavy wooden doors, his face twisted with fury.

"Wang Yao, you treacherous lying bastard!" England screamed as he stormed into the room, "How dare you dishonor your end of the treaty and block your ports and destroy my ships? We had an _agreement _that I could trade where I pleased! You are not to go back on your word now!"

Blinking in confusion, China tipped his head back and studied the detailed dragons painted on the ceiling while he wracked his memory for the crime England accused him of. It took him a few moments to sort through the complicated web of events that involved this particularly bombastic European country; but no matter how hard he tried, he could not bring up the offense England was raving about. Not that that meant very much, opium had the tendency to do the damnedest things to one's short term memory.

"I am deeply sorry for your predicament but I'm afraid you will have to explain how _I've _wronged _you_ recently aru." China slurred sarcastically, "Your opium is doing a terrific job of keeping me incapacitated, don't you agree? Now, if that's all you came for, then I would highly appreciate it if you would leave. Your eyebrows are ruining my high aru." Upon finishing his reply, China took another drag on his pipe, the smoke pleasantly quelling the irritation that had sprung up with the Englishman's arrival.

England's eyes widened with outrage as the insult sunk in, "Why you-" he growled as he crossed the room in four large strides, tore the pipe out of the Oriental's hand and hurled it against the wall. "You will pay for it, you hear?" England spat menacingly as he towered over the wasted Asian, "You will pay for all the damaged property and you will open your ports or I swear I will make your people the most miserable beings on the face of the earth. I thought you would have understood after I crushed your armies in our last clash but perhaps you're a larger fool than I took you for. Times have changed, Wang Yao; the world no longer cowers under China's shadow. Any more impertinence from you and I will personally put an end to your five thousand years of life. Do you _understand_?"

China let his eyes slip out of focus as he smiled coyly at the threat.

Was it even possible for him to be killed? Maybe, maybe not. Of course he was not so naive as to believe that he could live forever, that he could somehow evade the death, but he had thought that it would take at least a few hundred years for him to fade completely out of existence. What did it take to kill a nation anyways?

Noticing- and slightly surprised by- the prolonged silence, China looked up to see that England still waiting for his response, eyebrows almost touching as he scowled in impatience. Sighing wearily, China raised his hand as if to bring the pipe to his mouth before remembering that it currently lay on the floor across the room. He cast a longing glance at it before squaring himself to answer England's demands.

"Why do you still bother to ask?" China whispered, looking away, "It's not like my word holds any sway in this world anymore."

Turning back to face his opponent, China saw that England looked somewhat taken back, as if he had been expecting more of a vehement rebuke than an admission of defeat.

Emboldened by his silence, China continued calmly, "Once upon a time, England, a time not too long ago, actually; I thought of your actions as simply those of a barbaric, greedy child who'd accidentally stumbled across treasure. Don't get me wrong aru; I've always known that you had ill intentions, always. But I wasn't afraid of you then aru. You see, to me, you were like an annoying insect, a irritating little bug I could have crushed at any time had I so desired. But I didn't; I chose to play along with your ornery little games and entertain you at the cost of my people. Why? Because you had gold; gold that I wanted aru." China smirked to himself as he continued, "I see now that that was a mistake. Your greed was insatiable. You wanted more of everything and gave me less in return. You betrayed my hospitality, killed my countrymen, and poisoned my land with this foul opium of yours. I should have destroyed you back then; I should have driven you out when you were still weak aru. Perhaps if I had done that, then none of this would be happening now."

China trailed off morosely as he stared at his blood stained hand, a smirk creeping onto his face. "Ah, but it doesn't really matter anymore does it?", he mused in a lilting tone, "Regret is nothing but a waste of time. I suppose now is as good a time as ever to get rid of you aru. After all, my hands already have plenty of blood on them now so it shouldn't matter if I get them a little dirtier right?"

England felt a shiver of fear run down his spine as he watched China lapsed into insane laughter once again. This fear wasn't the normal rational fear one usually feels when confronted with danger; no, it was an ancient, instinctual kind of fear, a fear left over from the days of when man was still at the mercy of nature. England stood frozen to the spot as his instincts screamed at him to run away from the monster of a man on the bed. For a moment, England could see why China was the called the Dragon of the East, and it scared him.

China delirious arrogance was short-lived, however, as England quickly recovered from his momentary panic and lunged at the him. China's drug laden reflexes had no chance to react as the European rammed him into one of the four decorated bedposts, crushing his neck against the fine wood. "Let me make one thing clear," England breathed into China's ear as he tightened his grip, "I am going to give you three days to give me what I want and if I do not get what I want then I will bring the full force of the British armada against you. You understand what this means, correct?"

China nodded mutely as the lack of oxygen slowly ate away at what little lucidity the opium had left him. _Why do westerners always aim for the neck aru? _He thought as black spots twirled through his vision like swallows in spring. _ Why do they always go about stating the obvious and then asking if you understand? Who do they think I am? I'm the one who took war and made an art of it and they're asking if _I _understand. Ridiculous. _

After a few seconds, England released China's neck (slightly miffed at the other's lack of response) and watched coldly as the once great empire crumpled into an unsightly heap at his feet. "Three days, Wang Yao." England stated succinctly before striding out the door, pausing on his way out to kick the pipe back to the Oriental.

Rolling onto his back, China ignored the pipe next to his hand and listened until the sound of England's heavy boots faded into distance. After he was sure the European was far away, the ancient country grabbed onto the bed post and laboriously hoisted himself off the floor. The sudden change in elevation made him dizzy and he panted heavily as he looped an arm around the thick post to keep himself upright. After a few moments and deep breaths, the wave of nausea retreated and China stood upright for the first time in days.

_Three days huh? _China mused as he stumbled over to his desk where he picked up his calligraphy brush, dusty from lack of use, and set to writing his orders with a trembling hand. _I guess I have shape up and start a war then aru._

A fire he had not felt in decades blazed through China's soul as the he made his decision. He knew this war was futile, suicidal even, but he was going to fight it. England was right, the world had changed, and it had left him behind- but that didn't really matter very much in the grand scheme of things. He was going to use this war to show the world that he was still alive; that he had not disintegrated from old age and did not plan to do so anytime soon.

Turning his face towards the sky, China offered a silent prayer to the Emperor of Heaven who no longer cared. He knew this crusade was his and his alone but his heart still twinged as he looked around the room and noticed for the first time the absence of his siblings and his officials. Standing there in a room more luxurious than most people could dream of, China felt poorer than he had ever felt in his life. It was time to return to his people.

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Rate and Review? I would be very happy if you did XD. I'm pretty sure Elle is working on a oneshot involving the Berlin Wall but no guarantees


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